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He used to hate Javi's silences.
He envied his brother's ability to retreat into his little bubble whenever their parents argued. He would join Travis in his room and start drawing at the foot of his bed, as if nothing had happened, without saying a word to him.
Travis had to grit his teeth in irritation to resist the temptation to shake him.
I'm not always going to be here, he wanted to shout at him. Respond, damn it!
The comments his father was kind enough to make behind his back —but not behind Travis's— didn't help.
“He's just an introvert kid, Bill.” His mother used to defend him half-heartedly.
“Yeah, I'm sure Elton John's mother said that too.” His father would reply with a disgusted grimace. “He should come to the matches, become a man.”
Travis made the mistake of snorting under his breath. Sure, watching a bunch of dykes running around the field will make Javi a man, he thought.
“Anything to add, son?” He turned down the volume on the game to rest his elbows on the kitchen table, focusing all his attention on him, sternly. "Maybe your mother is right, maybe your brother isn't the problem. He's not the one with rumors circulating in the locker room."
For his mother's sake, he didn't take the bait. For his mother's sake, he didn't reply that Javi wouldn't follow his example in harassing young girls.
He caught him once, flirting with Jackie Taylor. The girl seemed completely oblivious, delighted with her new captaincy, ignoring her father's hand caressing her arm, getting closer than he should have.
Travis cleared his throat at the office door, interrupting the scene. His father glared at him as the girl apologized and returned to her teammates.
“Thanks for earlier.” She whispered between gasps later, sweaty at the end of the game.
Not as oblivious as she seemed. Maybe she was just good at faking smiles.
It seemed she had pushed herself too hard in training, as if she had to prove her new title as captain to herself.
Travis simply grunted in acknowledgment, sullen. A rich spoiled girl wasn't worth the punishment of having to accompany them to Nationals.
“Bobby Farleigh is who you should be worried about if you're looking for fags.” He replied to his father, earning an indignant protest from his mother for his language. “He's the one who seems to have an obsession with my dick.”
Bill looked at him with reluctant respect, smiling and leaning back in his chair again.
Travis breathed, pityingly patting himself on the back for sidestepping the topic and keeping it away from his little brother.
Javi became quieter after their father’s death. Travis couldn't stand it.
He pushed him until he got a reaction out of him, pushed him until he snatched that stupid gum away and left him sobbing on the floor.
He had been lost in the forest for months. In that frozen wasteland, without weapons to hunt, alive against all odds. Mute.
Now that he needed so many answers.
Travis had become quiet, he was aware. As if saving Nat from the Queen —condemning his brother— had been his last ounce of strength.
He was tired.
But in his silences, he listened. Maybe it was the mushrooms and berry wine, but honestly, he didn't give a damn if it was.
He could hear the familiar sound of a pencil on paper, as if when he turned around he would see Javi drawing at his feet again. Keeping him company.
He never spoke, but Jackie filled that role, telling Travis stories. He never thought he would like to hear them.
It was as if she were trying to make up for him having to get on that plane.